


place like this

by criminally_minded



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Harry Potter In Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, References to Depression, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminally_minded/pseuds/criminally_minded
Summary: Starts immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry volunteers to allow Draco and Narcissa to serve out their house arrest in his home in order to keep them out of Azkaban.----Harry sat back down, hands trembling. Hermione leaned over Ron and whispered to him, “Harry, are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Harry nodded firmly, trying to convey much more confidence than he felt.Ron rolled his eyes. “We can’t have one peaceful year, can we?"
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 266





	place like this

Harry stood under the invisibility cloak and surveyed the scene in front of him. The Great Hall was filled again with tables and benches, though now they had no discernable order to them. People sat with their friends and family, paying no mind to houses or age. Some were crying, some laughing, others hugging.

Harry saw Ron and Hermione holding hands, sitting with the Weasley clan. Molly was sobbing inconsolably into Arthur’s shirt. There was a conspicuously empty seat beside George, who looked completely lost, holding his head in his hands. Though he knew it was selfish, Harry was not yet ready to face them. He couldn’t bear their sadness in addition to his own. He couldn’t handle their gazes on him, full of pity, or worse, gratitude.

His gaze fell on the Malfoy family, huddled together and looking uncertain, as if they were unsure if they were welcome. Harry remembered the wand in his back pocket and thought that maybe, this was one thing he could do. Nobody was paying them any mind, so when Harry impulsively crept up to them and tugged on Draco’s sleeve, the only person who noticed was Draco himself, who jumped.

“Draco?” Narcissa asked, looking concerned. “Are you alright, darling?” 

Harry tugged on his sleeve again, sharp and urgent, and he saw the moment Draco understood it was him. Draco shifted a bit and turned toward the doors. “Fine, Mother. Just need to get a bit of fresh air. I’ll be back.” 

Narcissa and Lucius looked worried and a bit lost as Draco walked away, but Draco never looked back. Harry fell into step a bit behind him, following him down the stairs and into the deserted and demolished courtyard. Draco looked around, making sure nobody else was there. 

“Potter.”

Harry tugged off the invisibility cloak, folded it, and placed it carefully on the base of a crumbled statue. “Malfoy.” 

Draco turned and saw him then, and it was as if he had aged in the time since Harry had last seen him. He was dirt-smeared and disheveled as the rest of them, hair in disarray. His eyes were downcast, dark bags evident beneath them, and he had a small cut on the side of his face. Harry thought absently that, though he almost certainly looked worse, it was strange and unsettling to see the usually pristine boy look as he did. They spent a moment watching each other in silence. Harry wondered what Draco was thinking. 

Harry slid to the ground, his back against the hard stone wall. After a moment of apparent indecision, Draco sat next to him and hugged his knees to his chest. “I suppose you probably want me to thank you,” Draco said quietly, staring across the ruins of the courtyard. 

Harry turned to him, brow furrowed. “Do you really think I would have you come out here with me for that? Honestly?” 

Draco sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I suppose not.” He chewed his lower lip. “I just don’t know what you want from me. All of your friends and adoring fans are inside.”

“I’m not ready to see them yet,” Harry said honestly. “So many people died tonight and… And it’s all my fault.” His throat constricted and he closed his eyes, focusing on taking a deep breath. “I know none of them will admit it, but I know it’s true. I just can’t face them.” 

The boys were silent for a long time. Harry picked absently at a loose thread on his ragged jeans, trying his hardest not to cry. He wondered again what Draco was thinking, but dared not ask. He didn’t know what had possessed him to open up, but the longer the silence went on, the more fervently he wished he could take it back. 

“The Dark Lord lived in my family’s home for a year,” Draco said finally. Harry looked at him, saw the hard look on his face, and remembered the terror he had witnessed on the same face in Voldemort’s thoughts. “I know my family and I are bound for Azkaban. I’ve known for a long time. But… But I would rather spend the rest of my life in Azkaban than spend one more day in that house with him.” Draco clenched his jaw. Took a deep breath. Went on. “I know I’ve been terrible to you in the past. And your friends. I know that saying I’m sorry won’t undo years of hatred, but I want you to know that I do regret it.” Draco was speaking fast now, as though the words would simply stop coming if he paused to collect himself. “If it weren’t for you and your friends, nobody would have been able to stop the Dark Lord. My life may be forfeit at this point, but… Thank you. For stopping him. Nobody else could have done it, and many more lives would have been lost in the long run.”

Harry stared, and it was like he was looking at a person he had never met. Harry had seen Draco’s eyes full of fire, hatred, contempt, amusement, and derision over the past seven years. Never once had he seen them full of regret and resignation. Draco looked defeated and vulnerable in a way Harry had never seen, flayed to the bone, exposed. 

Harry hid his face in his hands, and began to cry. 

It had been a long time coming. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself feel so completely, and he found that once he started, he couldn’t stop. He cried for Colin Creevey, the heroic little boy who had only wanted to help. For Fred, who would never again light up the world with his laughter and pranks, and for George, who had lost a part of himself when he lost his twin. For Tonks and Lupin, who had only just become parents, and Teddy, who would grow up without a mother and father. Even for Severus Snape, whom he had so loathed, but who had loved his mother so deeply that he had protected and guided her child for seventeen long years after she had gone. And he cried for Draco Malfoy, the proud boy who had offered his hand in friendship when he was eleven and had been rebuffed for possibly the first time in his life. The boy who grew up in a stifling environment with toxic belief systems. The boy who made all the wrong choices.

Draco hadn’t left, nor had he offered a word or hand in comfort. He had simply scooted a bit closer to Harry and remained silent, doing Harry the great favor of not looking at him. After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes, Harry’s heaving sobs turned into quiet, sniffling crying, and he scrubbed his face with the ragged sleeves of his sweater. He took in a deep breath, counting to ten as he held it, and then blew it out again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco watching him cautiously.

Harry felt an urgent desire to never discuss what had just happened, and cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t go to Azkaban,” he said abruptly, voice cracking. “And neither should your mother. Without you both, I never could have done this today.” 

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked, startled. 

“At the Manor. You recognized us, I know you did.” Draco flushed a bit, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. “You bought us the time we needed to escape that day. And… and last night, your mum lied to Voldemort for me. She told him I was dead, but she knew I was alive. She just wanted it to be over so she could get back here to you.” 

A small, pleased smile tugged at Draco’s lips, and Harry could plainly see the pride and love he had for his mother. He tugged his legs in even closer to his body and rested his chin on his knees. “For some reason I doubt the Wizengamot will think those very valuable contributions to the cause.” 

Harry shook his head. “I’ll speak for you both, Draco. You won’t go to Azkaban.” 

Draco’s smile remained, but it was the indulgent smile of an adult humoring a small child. “Whatever you say, Potter.” After a moment, Draco stretched his legs out in front of him and let his head fall back against the wall. “What did you bring me out here for, anyway? I’m assuming you wanted more than to just blubber all over me.” Without the usual malice, his words came out soft, even a bit teasing. Harry filed it away to think about more thoroughly when he had the time. 

“Oh!” Harry had, after all, completely forgotten. He grinned sheepishly, shifting awkwardly so he could grab the wand from his back pocket. Their shoulders brushed, and Harry noticed that Draco did not recoil. He held the wand, taking a moment to appreciate what it had done for him, and then presented it to Draco. “This is yours, I think.” 

Draco stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re giving me my wand back?” 

Harry smiled. “Well, yeah. It is yours, right?”

Draco nodded and swallowed hard. He stared at it in Harry’s outstretched hand as if he were a starving man and Harry was offering him food. Though it must have pained him to do so, he shook his head. “You keep it, Potter. They’ll only take it away from me.”

With a start, Harry realized Draco was right. Whether Draco went to Azkaban or not, they certainly would not let him have his own wand during the trials. He deflated a bit. The one good thing he thought he could do… He shoved the wand back in his pocket. “I’ll keep it safe for you,” he promised. “Until you can keep it for good.”

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly. He sighed and then pushed to his feet, wincing as he stretched his back. “If that’s all, I should be getting back. My parents will worry.” 

Harry nodded and scampered up to his feet as well. “Alright. See you soon, then, Malfoy?” 

He held out his hand. Draco stared in bemusement for a moment before he clasped it with his own. 

“Yeah. See you soon, Potter.”

* * *

Harry had done as he had promised. He had finally spoken on behalf of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. He tried to maintain his self-assured and imposing posture, but the longer the Wizengamot deliberated, the more he wished he could tug at the collar of his dress shirt. He dared not look at the Malfoy family, who were seated several feet away from each other, hands bound as if they were common criminals. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood, and the hall fell silent. “After hearing from all witnesses, we have completed our deliberation, and the Wizengamot has decided on the following punishments for the Malfoy family. Draco Malfoy, you will serve two years in Azkaban, where you will be allowed visitors and may communicate with the outside world by owl post. These luxuries have been afforded to you due to your meager efforts on behalf of Harry Potter.” Harry’s breath seized in his chest. “Narcissa Malfoy, you will serve five years in Azkaban. You will also be allowed visitors.” Harry could feel his nails digging into the wooden arms of the chair. How could this be happening? “Lucius Malfoy, you will serve twenty years in Azkaban, and will be afforded one visitor monthly. This concludes the Malfoy family hearing.”

Harry jumped to his feet. “No!” he shouted. He heard Ron’s low moan from beside him. Everyone froze, some halfway through the motion of standing. 

Kingsley narrowed his eyes in his direction. “What is the meaning of this, Mr. Potter?” 

“Minister Shacklebolt,” Harry started, trying to still his shaking hands. “This is absolutely unacceptable. You heard my testimony! You know I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Draco and Narcissa. They don’t belong in Azkaban.”

Kingsley sat down hard, and after a brief pause, everyone else sat once again. The minister sighed and rubbed his temples. “Mr. Potter, you must understand. We need to keep them under constant surveillance. The Malfoys must atone for their crimes.” 

“House arrest, then,” Harry suggested. “With Aurors posted around the clock.”

Kingsley barked out a humorless laugh. “Aurors around the clock? Mr. Potter, my Aurors are currently overworked and understaffed, trying to hunt down the Death Eaters who fled. We don’t have the resources to do such a preposterous thing.” Harry’s brain was working furiously, trying to come up with any other solution. “Now, Mr. Potter, if that is all…” 

“Wait!” Harry cried. He sent an apologetic glance toward Ron and Hermione, who were both looking at him as if he were a stranger. “They… They can stay with me. I have a house, one that Sirius Black left for me. Put them under house arrest there. They’ll be under my care and supervision.”

A low murmuring was spreading through the room as witches and wizards bent their heads low together to discuss what had happened. Kingsley held up a single hand, and all became silent once more. Still, Harry couldn’t look at the Malfoy family. Would they be glad for his intervention, or outraged? He did not feel brave enough to find out yet.

After a moment of silence, Kingsley leaned forward. “Harry, do you understand what you’re offering? You would have two convicted Death Eaters in your home. Death Eaters that have proven themselves to be a danger to others. Before we could even consider such an offer, I need to know that you are fully aware of the implications of what you are saying.”

Finally, Harry glanced over to the Malfoys. Draco was watching him, face carefully blank, paler than ever. Narcissa was weeping quietly, one hand pressed to her chest and the other to her mouth. They didn’t look furious, or even dangerous. They just looked scared. Harry felt as though they had endured enough fear for their entire lifetimes. “Yes,” he answered solemnly. “I understand. The offer stands. Please give it serious consideration, and remember that I would not be standing here today if not for them. They are not evil people.”

Kingsley watched him for a moment longer, and then nodded. “The Wizengamot will deliberate.”

Harry sat back down, hands trembling. Hermione leaned over Ron and whispered to him, “Harry, are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Harry nodded firmly, trying to convey much more confidence than he felt.

Ron rolled his eyes. “We can’t have one peaceful year, can we? We finally get the war over and done with, and you’ve invited the entire family of ferrets to be your roomies. I cannot believe this.” Though he sounded glum, he had a hint of amusement in his eyes. Harry elbowed him, grateful, because he knew that no matter what happened, Ron and Hermione would support him.

Twenty minutes later, Kingsley rose to his feet, and without thinking, Harry jumped up as well. He saw Kingsley smile, just a bit, in his direction before donning the serious affect of the Minister of Magic once more.

“The Wizengamot has concluded its deliberation,” he announced. “We will agree to your offer, Mr. Potter, if you and the Malfoys agree to some conditions.”

Harry, trying not to show his relief, answered quickly, “What are the conditions?”

“First and foremost, a Ministry employee must go to your home and set up wards. These wards will allow you to come and go as you please, Mr. Potter, but they will alert the Aurors immediately if the Malfoys step a toe outside of the house. Should that happen, the Malfoys will serve out the remainder of their sentences in Azkaban. The only exception will be for a life-threatening emergency that requires a Healer from St. Mungo’s. Is that agreeable?” Harry thought it through, and then glanced at Hermione, who gave him a subtle nod. He nodded and agreed with Kingsley. “Next, they will have no access to their wands. They shall do no magic while they live with you.”

Harry didn’t need to look over to Hermione for that one. “Minister Shacklebolt, that’s unreasonable. My home is a magical one, not a muggle one. Should I be out of the house or unavailable, they’ll need their wands. Plus, the house is a bit of a wreck, as you well know.” He shot a furtive glance over to the Malfoys. “I might need their help making it liveable.”

Kingsley sighed, looking highly put upon. “I knew this might be a point of contention for you, Harry. And I know the state of Sirius’ home. However, this rule is for your safety and-”

“I do not fear for my safety from Draco or Narcissa Malfoy!” He said, exasperated, a touch louder than he had intended. “They’ve had plenty of opportunity to kill me over the past seven years, when it would have been of far greater benefit to them.”

“Fine,” Kingsley agreed tiredly. “They may keep their wands for household spells and minor charms. But they will be monitored closely. If they perform so much as a disarming spell, they will be shipped off to Azkaban. Agreed?” Again, a subtle nod from Hermione, and a more assertive one from Harry. “Finally, and this one, Mr. Potter, is non-negotiable: Lucius Malfoy will not be a part of this deal. He has hurt many people, not only in this war, but in the last. He will go to Azkaban for twenty years. There will be no further discussion on his case. Is that clear?”

Harry looked once again to the Malfoys. Narcissa was still crying, though now she was looking at her husband. Lucius didn’t look angry, as Harry suspected he might, only tired. Draco was still watching Harry. Harry knew that it was fair punishment for Lucius to go to Azkaban. He was not a good man. Perhaps not evil, maybe just overly ambitious and prideful, but certainly not good. Only now, looking at the family that was about to be torn apart, Harry wished things were different. Wished he could spare them the pain of losing one another, as he had lost his own family.

Throat tight, he looked back to Kingsley. “I agree to your terms.”

Kingsley turned his gaze, for the first time, to the Malfoys. “And you, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy? Do you accept these terms? You may, of course, refuse, and serve your original sentences in Azkaban if you’d prefer.”

Narcissa sniffed, tried to compose herself, and sat up straight. “I agree.”

Draco looked up, pale and small, at Kingsley. “I agree.”

Kingsley sat back in his chair, staring at the Malfoys curiously and with deep skepticism. “I want you to understand that these are far from the usual hearings. That Mr. Potter is being so good as to make this offer on your behalf shows he has a trust in you that you should not take lightly, nor should you take advantage of.” After another moment of quiet contemplation, he stood. “The Malfoy sentences are as follows. Draco Malfoy will spend two years in house arrest under the custody of Harry James Potter. Narcissa Malfoy will spend five years in house arrest under the custody of Harry James Potter. Lucius Malfoy will serve twenty years in Azkaban, allowing for monthly visitors. Now, unless anyone else has something to add…” Kingsley shot Harry a significant look, and Harry grinned sheepishly. “This concludes the Malfoy family hearing.”

Harry sank back into his seat only to be ushered out of it moments later by Hermione. “We need to catch Kingsley and sort out the details, Harry, come on.” The three had hardly made it into the hallway when they were approached by a harried looking witch with wild brunette curls and wide blue eyes.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. My name is Penny Greene, I’m Minister Shacklebolt’s new assistant. Come this way, please.” Without waiting for a response, she rushed down a nearby hallway, walking impressively quick in her outrageously high heels. After exchanging brief glances, Harry, Ron, and Hermione scurried after her, catching up only when she stopped in front of a door near the end of the passageway.

She opened the door and then eyed Ron and Hermione warily. “I just need Mr. Potter to sort out some paperwork. Legal documents, you see.”

“Yes, I see. We’ll be joining him,” Hermione said firmly and then brushed past the witch into the room.

Harry was immensely grateful for Hermione’s presence when, half an hour later, the assistant came in toting a massive stack of paperwork, all of which had to be signed before he could “take the Malfoys into his custody,” as she had put it. Harry rather thought that made it sound as though he were adopting them, and not just giving them a place to stay.

Hermione dove into the paperwork, shoving papers only briefly under Harry’s nose when he was needed to sign. His hand began to cramp after some time, and he let his mind wander, tuning out Hermione’s occasional mutterings in favor of wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.

Had he made a terrible mistake? Would he be able to manage two years living with Draco, and five with Narcissa? Would they hold Lucius’ sentence against him? Would his home become a place he dreaded going at the end of each day? Harry had always been impulsive to some degree, but thought that this was probably the most reckless decision he had ever made.

Then again, something about the thought of the proud, quick-witted, snarky Draco Malfoy wasting away in Azkaban for two years made his stomach lurch. No, he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he not stopped it.

Quite suddenly, the door opened and there were Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Malfoys had been freed of their bindings and they filtered into the room, quiet and solemn. Narcissa’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, but she looked no less poised than ever. Draco, on the other hand, looked as if someone had drained all of the blood from his body. Even his lips were pale, his eyes dull and downcast.

“How is the paperwork coming along, then?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Just about done,” Hermione answered, eyes darting over the final few pages of the packet. She presented the final page to Harry. “This one requires signatures from you, the Malfoys, and the Minister.”

Harry signed, flexed his overworked hand, and passed the paper and quill to Kingsley. The man set his hard gaze on Harry. “Once we do this, Harry, there is no backing out. This is a magically binding contract. Now that you’ve had some time to think, are you still absolutely certain you’re prepared to take on this responsibility?”

Harry glanced sidelong at Narcissa, who was clutching her robes tightly, and Draco, who was staring resolutely at the floor. He shot them what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then turned back to the Minister. “Yes, Kingsley. I’m quite sure.”

Kingsley watched him a beat longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied. He signed his name with a flourish, then gestured for the Malfoys to do the same. Harry watched as first Narcissa, then Draco signed the paper with shaking hands. Kingsley handed the completed paperwork to his assistant, who took it and raced out the door without so much as a nod of acknowledgment.

Kingsley surveyed the room. “Alright, then, you lot. You’re all set. A ministry official will be by shortly to set the wards and the tracking spells on the wands. You can floo directly to Harry’s home.”

“Wait, Minister,” Harry almost stopped at the look of sheer exasperation on Shacklebolt’s face. He donned what he hoped was his most charming and innocent crooked smile, and asked, “Won’t the Malfoys need to retrieve their personal belongings from their home? Seeing as they won’t be permitted to go shopping.”

Shacklebolt sighed. “I give you far too much leeway, Harry. Honestly.”

“Awww, Kingsley,” Harry grinned, and could have sworn he heard Draco suppress a snort of disbelief, which only made him grin wider.

“Very well. Give me a moment to fetch aurors to accompany the Malfoys to collect some belongings. After that, they will go directly to your home. Is that acceptable?” He looked around the room and the occupants nodded back at him. He turned and left the room without another word, murmuring under his breath all the while.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. “Kingsley’s gotten much crankier lately, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re going to drive him to drink, mate,” Ron was shaking his head, bemused.

There was a small sound then, halfway between a cough and a laugh. Harry turned and saw Narcissa smiling at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. She approached him slowly, then reached out and took his hands in her own. He watched in numb disbelief as she leaned down and pressed her lips to each of his hands. He felt a tear fall onto his fingertips.

“Thank you,” Narcissa whispered, sitting in the chair beside him and not letting go of his hands. “Words can not express my gratitude to you, Mr. Potter. Truly.”

Harry felt a flush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks and he smiled. “Oh. Well, er- no need to thank me, really, Mrs. Malfoy. You saved my life. And please, call me Harry. I find it’s a bit less awkward if the people I live with don’t address me so formally.”

Narcissa beamed at him, as if he had just bestowed upon her a gift, and she lifted his hand to her face and kissed it once more. “Well then, Harry, I insist you call me Narcissa.”

For want of something to break the heavy silence, Harry turned to Draco, whose gaze was fixed on Harry’s hands clasped within his mother’s. “You can still call me Mr. Potter, Malfoy.”

“Not on your life,” Draco answered with a smirk, and the expression was so familiar that Harry found himself smiling with pleasure.

The Malfoys were whisked away soon after that, and Harry headed home to prepare for their arrival. He had told Ron and Hermione to head home, sure it would be easier for the Malfoys to acclimate without their presence. After Hermione had extracted several promises from him to “behave himself” around Malfoy, they had flooed home, and Harry headed to Grimmauld Place.

Sirius’ ancestral home was looking far worse than Harry ever remembered seeing it. Every surface seemed coated in a gratuitous layer of dust and spiders lurked in every corner. The amount of work that needed to be done felt overwhelming. Rather than dwell on it, he made his way into the kitchen and put on the kettle, making himself a tea to calm him down.

He cleared his throat. “Kreacher?”

The elf appeared instantaneously in front of him with a small pop. “Master Harry is being home,” he said, golf ball eyes wide and focused. “It has been quite a while since the Master has come home.”

Harry smiled politely. “Yes, sorry about that, Kreacher. I’ve been a bit busy. But listen, we’re going to have company for a while.”

“Company, sir?” Kreacher asked. “Your friends is coming to stay?”

“No. It’s… it’s Narcissa Malfoy, actually, and her son, Draco. They’re going to live with us from now on.”

Kreacher wrung the filthy pillowcase he wore between his knobbly fingers. “It cannot be… the sister of Bellatrix, living here?”

Harry’s bit back a retort about Bellatrix, and nodded. “Yes, though don’t go talking about her too much, I don’t think they got on very well. So we’re going to need two bedrooms made up for them. Can you do that, Kreacher? They should be here soon.”

“Oh, yes, Master Harry, sir,” Kreacher said, bowing so low his long nose brushed the kitchen floor. “Kreacher will be most honored to prepare the rooms, yes, my Mistress would be so pleased. Kreacher will start at once.” And with another pop, he was gone.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was casting Scourgify on every surface of the kitchen, trying to clear the worst of the grime which had accumulated. Household spells were not his strong suit, and he was sweating by the time his doorbell rang. He glared at a particularly stubborn and mysterious purple-ish stain next to the sink, threw a hand towel over it, and rushed to get the door.

The Malfoys carried only three suitcases between them which had been shrunken and tucked under their arms. Narcissa smiled at him as they swept past into the entryway. One of the surly looking aurors stepped inside. “We need to see the wand Draco Malfoy will be using,” he demanded, not bothering with formalities.

“Oh.” Harry had forgotten he still had Draco’s wand. “Er, right. One second. Wait here.” He raced up the stairs and tore through his bedside table, grabbing the wand out of one of its draws, then hurried back down the stairs. Panting slightly, he handed over the wand. The auror inspected it suspiciously, then cast a series of complex spells on it with his own wand before returning it.

“Right, then,” said the Auror, “that’s done. We’ll just be out front for a bit setting up the wards, but we shouldn’t need to disturb you again.” He nodded and turned without waiting for a word, hurrying his partner along beside him as he left.

Leaving Harry alone with Draco and Narcissa Malfoy for the very first time. Quite suddenly, he was overwhelmed with embarrassment at the state of the house. He felt his face flushing as he watched the Malfoys look around the home, looking posh and elegant and distinctly out of place.

“Er, I’m really sorry,” he said in a rush. “I haven’t been staying here lately, nobody has done in over a year. So it’s a bit worse for wear. Only it was the first place that came to mind, and I don’t really have anywhere else to go, so- um. It needs a lot of work.” He was too mortified to look up from his shoes.

“Harry,” Narcissa said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “Please look at me.” Harry forced his gaze up, and her ice blue eyes were warm and happy. “You have done us a great service, bringing us here. Trust me when I tell you that even on this home’s worst day, I would have my son here over Azkaban in a heartbeat. Draco and I will be glad to help you clean it up.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Mother,” Draco drawled, looking bored.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, Malfoy, hope you brought some less fancy clothes. Those don’t look well-suited to cleaning.”

Draco glanced down at his grey slacks and dark green jumper and smirked. “You would think these are ‘fancy’ clothes.” He eyed Harry’s well-worn jeans and tee-shirt with disdain and Harry struggled not to snap at him.

“Kreacher?” Harry called, instead of throttling Draco. The elf appeared immediately, looking absolutely overcome when he caught sight of the Malfoys.

“Oh, this must be Narcissa and the young Draco Malfoy. It is very good to be meeting you indeed,” he croaked, bowing as low as possible. “May old Kreacher be taking your bags to your rooms, esteemed guests of Master Harry?”

All three watched with badly contained anxiety as the extremely old elf struggled to take the bag from Narcissa’s hand. “Er, Kreacher,” Harry interrupted, “Why don’t you let me take the bags, and you can just lead the way to the guest rooms?”

“As Master Harry wishes, sir.”

Harry took the bag from Narcissa (and was thoroughly scorned by Draco when he offered to do the same for him), and they all started up the stairs. Kreacher led Draco to the room next to Harry’s, and a bit further down the hall, Harry left Narcissa with her bag in the second guest room.

“Do you want to settle in for a bit? I can show you around the house later, after dinner. If you’d like,” Harry offered.

Narcissa smiled. “Yes, thank you. That sounds lovely.” A door shut down the hall, and Harry turned to find that Draco had already retreated into what would be his room.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair that night. Nobody seemed to know quite what to do or say. Kreacher had gone all out for their meal, though, and he popped eagerly in and out with enough food to feed eight.

When he entered the dining room with their sixth course, a treacle tart that smelled absolutely heavenly, Harry laughed. “Kreacher, we’ll be eating leftovers for a week, at least.”

Kreacher set the tray on the table and tugged anxiously at his long ears. “It is not every day that the Master is having such fine guests. My Mistress would have been most pleased to see Narcissa in the home of her ancestors. Yes, she would.”

Harry looked to Narcissa, startled. “Oh! That’s right. I forgot to ask, you were Sirius’ cousin, weren’t you?”

Narcissa smiled, but she looked vaguely troubled. “Yes, that’s right. I’ve been to this house only once, when I was a girl.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgment. “Your names are both on the family tree upstairs. In a way, the house is really more yours than it is mine.”

“Oh, no, Harry, this house has never been ours,” Narcissa answered kindly. “I think you’ve made far better use of it than we would have, anyway.”

After taking a few bites of their desserts, Harry took them on a quick tour of the house (besides the cellar, in which Harry was relatively certain some doxies had taken up residence), finishing in the room with the family tree stretching across the walls. Harry watched as Narcissa and Draco walked the perimeter of the room, examining the branches of the tree and pausing briefly in front of some of the names. Draco looked a bit bored, as if he had seen his family tree a thousand times. He probably had, Harry figured.

Narcissa had found their immediate family on the wall, and traced her fingers over each of their names in turn, and then paused when she reached her sister. She shook her head, looking sad and suddenly aged by grief. She sighed and then turned to Harry. “Why don’t we start in this room for our renovations tomorrow? We can replace this old tree with your family tree.”

Harry frowned, shuffling his feet a bit in discomfort. “Well, it wouldn’t be nearly big enough to fill this wall. I only know about my parents, and my muggle family on my mother’s side. I’ve seen pictures of my grandparents, but I don’t even know their names.” He was acutely aware of Draco and Narcissa’s gazes on him, so he forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “It’s alright, though, it’s nice to see Sirius’ family on the wall. And it would be great if we could fix where they burnt away his name.”

“I’m sure we could do that, Harry,” Narcissa said.

“Besides,” Harry pressed on, “you don’t really want to start tomorrow, do you? There’s not any rush. You could take some time to get settled, if you’d like.”

“The sooner we start,” Draco cut in, after having been conspicuously quiet throughout the night, “the sooner we can stop living in filth. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I've got asthma after walking through all the dust in this place.”

Narcissa gasped and turned to chastise her son, but Harry threw his head back and laughed. “I’m so sorry, Malfoy, I forgot to consider your delicate disposition when I offered you a place to live.”

“Delicate?” Draco retorted in exaggerated outrage. “Just because I wheeze when there’s more soot in the air than oxygen?”

“Merlin, you’re obnoxious. Guess we’ll have to start in your room then, so you don’t keep me up at night with all your wheezing.”

Draco was grinning at him. Not smirking, not sneering, but actually grinning, and Harry had to respond with a smile of his own. “You finally get my jokes,” Draco commented with a touch of approval. “After all those years where I thought maybe you just were born without a sense of humor.”

“You mean you’ve been joking with me all this time?”

“Obviously. You really think I couldn’t come up with a more offensive nickname for you than Scarhead?”

“I think your jokes are terrible, and that you are not funny at all.”

“Shut up, Potter, I’m hilarious.”

Narcissa was watching them with a bemused smile. “Now, boys,” she said, gently chiding. “I’m quite tired, I think I shall head to bed. Please do try not to bicker for much longer, I think a good night’s sleep would serve us all well.”

Harry smiled. “Good night, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Good night, Harry. Sleep well, Draco.” She patted him fondly on the cheek before heading back down the steps toward the bedroom.

Harry and Draco hadn’t been alone since the day of the last battle, and Harry was suddenly acutely aware of it. He went to put his hands in his pockets, and instead of his usual wand, he had two. “Oh!” Harry said, pulling Draco’s wand from his pocket. “Here you are, then. I told you I’d keep it safe for you until you could have it back.”

This time, Draco reached out and took the wand at once, smiling as he grasped it firmly. “I never really thought I’d get to have it back. My mother’s worked for me, but it wasn’t quite the same.”

Harry thought about using Hermione’s wand, feeling like he was trying to write with the wrong hand. He could do it, just not well. “Well, go on then,” he prompted. “Let’s make sure it still works for you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Draco stretched his wand arm in front of him and cast a quick levitating charm on a dusty book from the pile in the corner of the room. The book flew up at once, and he grinned as he had it zoom about the room. Harry smiled and clapped quietly as Draco had the book do a poor facsimile of a bow.

Draco set the book back on the pile and tucked his wand carefully into his trousers. “Potter, this house is a catastrophe. It may very well collapse and kill us all in our sleep, or suffocate us in towers of dust bunnies, but… it isn’t Azkaban. So thanks.”

“Wow,” Harry said drily. “That was the worst expression of gratitude I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not going to kiss the hem of your robes, if that’s what you’re waiting on,” Draco snapped.

“Oh my God, you’re the worst,” Harry moaned.

“I just thanked you!”

“After insulting my godfather’s home.”

“Well,” Draco crossed his arms peevishly, “You must admit it leaves something to be desired. But I’ve already said it’s better than Azkaban and I won’t say it again. Now accept my thanks, you great git.”

“You’re so welcome,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Look, we’re going to be living together for two years, unless you want to be shipped off to Azkaban, so we might as well  _ try _ to get along.”

Draco deflated a bit. “Unfortunately this  _ is  _ me trying.” 

Harry smirked. “You must admit it leaves something to be desired.” 

Draco threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it. I’m tired of you and your tiresome face. I must go to sleep at once, before I apparate to Azkaban and beg them to take me in.” He turned on his heel and stormed out the door, following his mother down his stairs. 

Strangely enough, Harry reflected, still grinning, that had been the most normal conversation he had had in months. 

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, they decided on a strategy with which to tackle the house. Narcissa offered to take a look at the portrait of Walburga, which had been conspicuously quiet since the appearance of the Malfoys. They figured the portrait might be coaxed into coming down if the request came from one of her direct descendents. Meanwhile, Harry and Draco would get a start on the second floor, where the bedrooms and main bathrooms were. Harry noted that Malfoy was making an impressive effort to be even-keeled and considerate, and so Harry did the same. 

The three were so absorbed in their tasks by mid afternoon that Kreacher had to remind them to break for lunch. Narcissa reported with a small smile that she thought the portrait might be willing to move into a sitting room on the third floor that had a fireplace and would probably be rather cozy once cleaned up. She said she would begin working on the room the very next day, and hopefully have Walburga moved there within the week. 

Harry reflected upon all of the trouble that the stubborn old portrait had caused him. To think all it took was a Malfoy to sweet-talk her a bit to get her off that wall…

By the end of the day, Harry was sweaty and exhausted. His cleaning charms had gotten a bit better as he worked, but they were nowhere up to Draco’s standards. Draco insisted on following him around, critiquing his spellwork and re-cleaning things that Harry had just cleaned. It took one hundred percent of his willpower not to hex Draco into the next week. When they decided to stop for the night, Harry showered quickly, firecalled Ron and Hermione to give them a quick update, and then he fell into bed, hair still damp. He was too tired to dream. 

* * *

It was shockingly easy to fall into a fairly consistent routine with the Malfoys. Harry was always the last to wake, and the Malfoys always seemed to be waiting for him in the kitchen with tea and a light breakfast. Draco would make a cutting remark about Harry’s hair or his clothes, and Harry would respond in kind, and then they would plan out their tasks for the day. The first few days Harry had tried to work alone, but he felt he was going mad with boredom, and always ended up seeking Draco out. (‘ _ Terrible company is better than no company at all,’  _ he had said, and Draco had thrown a damp, disgusting rag straight in his face.) Narcissa always chose to work separately from the boys, preferring to work alone, or with assistance from Kreacher. ( _ ‘It’s because she thinks you’re an awful bore,’  _ Draco announced gleefully. Harry silently transfigured his teacup into a mouse.) Kreacher would always tell them when it was time to eat, and they would stop working for the day after dinner. The Malfoys usually headed to their respective rooms, and Harry would fire call or visit Hermione and Ron, or at least pen them a quick letter. The days were long and full, and by the time he went to bed each night, he was asleep within moments.

Though Harry could hardly admit it to himself, he was coming to enjoy being around Draco. (It was highly embarrassing. Ron could  _ never  _ know, Harry swore to himself solemnly…. And neither could Draco.) They bickered constantly, but all of their taunts and jabs lacked the vitriol and malice of their school days. Now it felt more like they were just joking around with each other. Laughter came easily and often. Harry thought that it had probably been a long time since anyone had laughed in Grimmauld Place. 

In the blink of an eye, a month had passed. The house was coming along slowly but definitively. The most offensive of the portraits had been sequestered on the third floor spare room, including Walburga. The house was looking less gloomy with each passing day.

“Fancy a game of chess?” Harry asked one evening after dinner.

Draco stared at him. This was a divergence from their usual routine, but Ron and Hermione were having a date night, and Harry didn’t really feel like being alone in his room. Draco shrugged and nodded, and a few minutes later they sat in the living room setting up the board.

“I should warn you, I used to play with my father quite often,” Draco said, making his first move. “By the end he hardly ever won.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgment, moving a pawn. “Honestly it could be your first game and you’d probably still win. I’m truly terrible at this game.” 

Draco snorted. “Figures.” 

They played in silence for a few minutes. Harry stared at the board, barely thinking about his moves before he made them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help your dad,” he said quietly, not daring to look up. The thought had been plaguing him since they first came to his house, but he had never found a good moment to bring it up. 

“Don’t be,” Draco responded at once. “My father made his choices, and he was always choosing wrong. He’s the one who got us into this mess. Not that my mother and I are blameless, of course. We’ve all got to atone for what we’ve done.” Harry mulled that over as Draco took his Queen. “Checkmate. Merlin, you really are shit at this. This is embarrassing for you.”

Harry looked up and grinned, finding Draco smirking back at him. The firelight flickered across his features. The same high cheekbones and striking grey eyes, but the boy had filled out a bit in the month, not quite so pointy anymore.  _ Handsome,  _ Harry thought suddenly.  _ He’s very handsome. When did that happen?  _

“Told you,” Harry said, voice unsteady. He cleared his throat. “Another game?” 

Draco was looking at him curiously but he reset the board without comment. As the game went on, Harry was unable to stop staring up from under his eyelashes. There was a small crease between Draco’s eyes when he concentrated. He kept flicking his white-blond hair out of his face, but it wasn’t quite long enough to tuck behind his ears. He couldn’t help but notice it looked soft.

“So what are you going to do when we’re done with the house?” Draco asked midway through the next game.

Harry ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t really know,” he said honestly. “I haven’t thought much about it.” That part was a lie. Hermione had been asking him the very same thing almost every day for weeks. She had already accepted a prestigious internship with the Unspeakables, and Ron was helping George run the joke shop. ‘Robards keeps asking me when you’re going to apply,’ she had told him. ‘He really wants you for the DMLE.’ But the thought of joining the aurors, of doing nothing but chasing down dark wizards for his entire career left him shuddering with dread. 

“I see all the owls you’ve been getting from the ministry,” Draco pressed. “The heads of every department are probably begging you to join them.” 

Harry shrugged, but didn’t answer. He had barely read the letters, merely scanning their contents before shoving them into a drawer in his room. Thinking about his future always made him feel sick to his stomach; it was so much easier to focus on his day to day life. Clean the house. Bicker with Malfoy. Tire himself out enough so that he wouldn’t see the faces of his dead loved ones, eyes angry and accusing, as he slept each night. 

“What about you?” he deflected. “Any idea what you’d like to do when you get out of here?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Something makes me think a convicted death eater won’t have much choice in the way of career prospects.” He moved another piece and took Harry’s Queen, another effortless win. “Maybe you can pay me to give you chess lessons.” 

“It’s not fair,” Harry frowned, watching as Draco cleaned up the board. “You’ll already have paid your debts. You should be able to get a job.” 

Draco shrugged now, staring into the fireplace. “Since when has life ever been fair?” 

“What  _ would  _ you do?” Harry asked. “If you could do anything, get a job anywhere.”

Draco continued to stare into the fireplace for so long, Harry started to think he wasn’t going to answer. “I’ve always loved potions,” he said finally. “Maybe open up my own shop. Though I’ll be rusty after two years without any practice.” 

“You Slytherins and your potions,” Harry said, shaking his head, a vague idea starting to form. “I’ve never seen the appeal, myself.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Draco retorted, smirking. “Every potion you’ve ever made was in danger of exploding. It’s a delicate subject. It requires patience and attention to detail, two things you are notoriously atrocious with.” 

Harry watched the way Draco’s long, pale fingers curled around the chess pieces as he collected and sorted them. The curve of his neck as he bent to stow the chess set back on the side table, and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I pay attention to some things,” he said distractedly.

Draco stifled a yawn and stretched as he stood. “Sure you do, Potter. As fun as destroying you at chess has been, I’m wiped. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry nodded, bid him goodnight, and watched as he left the room.

* * *

“Let’s make you a potions lab.”

Draco stared at him as if he had spoken another language. It had been a week since Draco had told Harry about his wish to have a career in potions, and the idea had been in the back of his mind ever since. He had considered just making the laboratory himself, but he thought about how particular Draco always was in their Potions classes, and he thought he would probably enjoy creating the lab with him. “Why?” Draco asked blandly.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? We’ve got the space, and you’ll be here for long enough. Might as well use the time to practice brewing, if that’s what you want to do.” 

Draco blinked at him a few times, then went back to clearing the cobwebs out of a corner of the study. Harry sighed and turned back to the musty old bookshelf. He was scanning each book on the shelves for traces of dark magic, setting the sketchy books aside to be disposed of, and dusting off the books that were still good. “I don’t have access to the Gringotts account,” Draco mumbled. “All of our accounts were frozen.” 

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t even considered the financial aspect. “Well, that’s okay. It’s in my house, I would pay for the equipment and supplies, of course.” 

“I don’t want your charity, Potter,” Draco hissed through clenched teeth. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh my  _ God,  _ you are dramatic. It’s my house, you prat, it’ll be  _ my  _ Potions lab. You’ll just be using it. And you can make some household potions we can keep around.” Draco’s jaw clenched, and he brushed several spider webs off of his trousers, refusing to meet Harry’s gaze. He sighed. “Well, nevermind it. It was just an idea.”

They worked for several hours in tense silence, until Harry could bear it no longer, and he wandered off to help Kreacher get dinner together. Later, Draco went to bed without bidding anyone goodnight. 

Harry awoke in the morning to a piece of parchment that had been slipped under his door. 

_ H,  _

_ I have included a list of supplies we will need for the new potions lab.  _

_ -D _

Harry smiled, dressed quickly, and ran out to gather what they would need.

* * *

Harry had hoped that the potions lab, once completed, would give Draco a sense of normalcy, or even purpose, but it seemed he had been wrong. Harry noticed a considerable change in Draco as the weeks wore on. He was becoming peevish, prone to snapping whenever Harry asked for his help with something, or suggested an easier way to get a chore done. He was reverting back to his Hogwarts schoolyard bullying ways, but Harry had no idea what had changed. If anything, he was taking care to be even nicer to Draco than usual. He never bothered Draco when he was working in the lab, besides offering his assistance once or twice, but the boy seemed annoyed and burdened by his mere presence. 

One day when they were cleaning out Sirius’ old study, it came to a head. Draco had been examining an old desk, and Harry was suddenly struck by an image of Molly Weasley sobbing as various members of her family appeared, dead, in front of her. 

“Wait,” he told Draco, “A boggart used to live in there. We should get our wands, just in case.”

Draco spun around to face him, arms crossed against his chest. “Of course I’ve got my  _ wand,  _ Potter. We’re poking around in the shadowy corners of an ancient and Dark house, what kind of a dolt wouldn’t bring his wand?” He sneered, and it was so like their school days that Harry felt his temper flare violently. 

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you lately?” Harry demanded. “You’ve been a complete prick.”

“You mean as opposed to my usual sunny demeanor?” Draco snarled.

Harry groaned. “We were getting along at the start, weren’t we? Do you not like the potions lab? Have I done something wrong? Because if I did, I’m  _ sorry _ , okay? I’ve been trying my best to make you and your mum feel at home, so just tell me if something isn’t right and I’ll try to fix it.” He heard the pleading tone in his voice and felt ashamed, but he couldn’t help the bizarre desperation he felt.

Draco’s glare remained hard for a moment longer, and then he let loose a long breath and seemed to deflate. He raked his fingers through his hair, an agitated gesture that Harry had never seen before. “Look, it’s… It’s nothing. Nothing you can fix, anyway.”

“Try me,” Harry told him. 

Draco drifted into a chair near the desk and put his head in his hands. “I’m just going a bit stir crazy, I suppose. I do like working in the lab, and it helps, but this place barely even has any windows. I just miss the outdoors.”

The anger that had filled him left Harry in a heartbeat. He sighed. “I wish there was something I could do. Maybe I could talk to Kingsley again, and-”

“No,” Draco interrupted, sitting upright. “You’ve done more than enough for me. This place may not be a castle, but at least it isn’t Azkaban. I’ll get used to it… And in the meantime, I’ll try to stop being so…” he gestured at himself vaguely. “You know.”

“Malfoy-ish?” Harry suggested.

Draco smirked. “Watch it, Potter.” He stood again and turned back to the desk, drawing his wand out of his pocket. 

Harry went to join him, elbowing him good-naturedly in the ribs. “I don’t know. You’re not all bad, I suppose.” 

“And yet I am treated with nothing but violence,” Draco retorted, rubbing his side.

Harry laughed and Draco grinned, and Harry wished he could pin Draco’s smile in place and keep it there forever. Without thinking, he reached out and swiped at a smudge of dirt on Draco’s cheek. His skin was smooth and cool beneath Harry’s fingers, and Harry decided he quite liked the feel of it, in a way that he had once thought he might like Ginny’s. The thought made him freeze, fingers stilled on Draco’s jaw. Grey eyes watched him curiously, and a small, pleased corner of Harry’s mind recognized that Draco did not draw away. He pulled his hand back slowly, allowing the tips of his fingers to drag along the stubble of Draco’s jaw. 

When they faced the boggart, Harry dispensed of the Dementor with ease. His mind was racing. He turned and smiled at Draco, who was still watching him curiously. “Think you can manage the closet on your own? I’ve got an errand I’ve been meaning to get around to.” 

Draco shooed him from the room, telling him to send Kreacher up with storage bins while he was at it. Harry went in search of Narcissa, and within twenty minutes, they had devised what Harry thought was a most excellent idea.

After all, nobody should have to live without seeing the sun. 

* * *

Harry Potter had never come up with a worse idea in his entire life than the rooftop terrace he and Narcissa had begun to create for Draco. It was almost impossible to be discreet when Draco was expecting him to help with the cleanup. Narcissa would send him out with lists of things to pick up, and Harry would come up with increasingly flimsy excuses as to where he was going. 

“You’re leaving  _ again _ ?” Draco demanded, two weeks into the process. Harry froze with his trainers half on. 

“Er, yes? Just need to… get some groceries.” 

“You got groceries yesterday.” 

“These groceries are for Ron and Hermione.”

“Why can’t they get their own groceries?” 

“They, uh… broke their legs.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes. All four of them, rather.” 

They both sat and stewed in the blatant lie. Harry jumped to his feet. “Back soon!” He disappeared before Draco could come up with an adequate response. 

And so it went for a long month, until finally Harry and Narcissa stood in the middle of the most gorgeous rooftop terrace Harry had ever seen. They had made the most of the space with a small cast iron dining set and two plush lounge chairs, surrounded by vibrant and beautiful flowers. Every ledge and corner was overflowing with greenery and assorted potted plants that Harry would have never thought to use. Though it had been his idea, Narcissa was the one who had made it come to life. 

He reached out and took her hand in his and smiled at Draco’s mother. “Thank you, Narcissa. I could have never done something so beautiful without you.”

“Oh no, love, thank  _ you  _ for doing something so precious for my child. He’s going to love it.” Narcissa looked close to tears. 

Harry bit his lip, trying to suppress his eager grin. He couldn’t wait to show Draco. “Do you want to show him?”

Narcissa shook her head, still smiling. “No, I think you should show him this on your own.”

“Are you sure? We both worked so hard, though.”

“Quite sure. Now, why don’t you show him what you’ve done for him?”

Harry nodded and looked around nervously one last time. It was perfect, beyond what he could have imagined. He only hoped Draco would love it, too. “I’ll show him tonight, before the sun sets. I promised Ron and Hermione I’d stop by today for lunch with George.”

* * *

An hour later, he chewed distractedly on his pastry, thinking of the best way to show Draco the roof. 

“What’s up, mate? You seem out of it today,” Ron commented, observing Harry with a furrowed brow.

George laughed, “You’d be out of it too if you had to see Malfoy’s ugly mug every day.” Ron laughed and agreed, and Harry felt a sudden flare of annoyance. 

“He’s really not that bad anymore, you know.” Harry shrugged. “Besides, we all know he’s gorgeous. Bit unfair, honestly.” 

“....What did you just say?” 

Ron was looking at Harry as though he had suddenly sprouted a mandrake from his shoulder. Glancing around him, he noticed that  _ everyone  _ was looking at him like that.

“What?” Harry asked, swallowing down a sip of lukewarm tea. “You don't think so?” 

“That  _ Malfoy  _ is.. is…” Ron looked a bit green.

“I believe ‘gorgeous’ was the word that he used,” George said helpfully, grinning broadly and elbowing Harry in the ribs.

Harry rubbed at the spot, irritated. It was impossible to deny that Draco had finally grown into his features. While he once looked unpleasantly pointy, Draco’s features now looked elegant, aristocratic. His jaw was sharp and defined, cheekbones high and prominent, and his grey eyes were as captivating as ever. He no longer slicked back his hair, and it hung soft and unrestrained, now just long enough to tuck behind his ears. His neck was long and graceful, and his body was lithe. It wasn’t even an opinion really, it was just a fact: Draco Malfoy was beautiful. 

“Well, he is, isn’t he?” Harry leaned forward on his elbows, looking to Hermione for help. “I mean, I know he can be… difficult, but we can all admit that he’s. Well. He’s very good looking.”

Hermione had a small smile on her face, biting the corner of her lip like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Harry, he’s, um… well. He does have nice eyes, I suppose.” 

“He’s as pale as a vampire, it’s creepy,” Ron added, and George nodded solemnly, as if that settled the matter. “You don’t…” Ron swallowed hard. “You don’t fancy him, do you, mate? I mean, you know I don’t care if you like blokes or whatever, but…  _ Malfoy? _ ”

“No, I-” But at that moment, a sudden memory came back to Harry. Draco with his head thrown back, laughing. A smile transforming his usually serious face, lighting him up. The small lines around his eyes accentuating their mischievous glint. The way Harry’s heart thudded so hard against his ribs it was almost painful.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, a small “ _ oh _ ” escaping his lips.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Ron moaned.

Hermione patted his hand. “The worst day of your life  _ so far,  _ love.” 

“I think…” Harry stood abruptly. “I think maybe I have to go home now.” 

He darted to the Floo, heart pounding wildly, George catcalling and Hermione shouting her encouragement as he went. 

As soon as he got to Grimmauld Place he bounded up the stairs, poking his head into various rooms until he finally found Draco curled up with a book in front of the fireplace. He looked comfortable and content, and Harry felt his heart swell. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly so as not to startle him.

Draco looked up. “Oh, you’re back.” He slipped a bookmark between two pages and put the book aside. “Where are the Doxy traps?” 

“The what?” Harry asked, bewildered. 

A hint of annoyance flashed on Draco’s face. “The Doxy traps you said you were going out to get…” he checked the time. “four hours ago?” 

“Oh! Yes. Doxy traps.” Harry backtracked quickly, “Well, you see. They were stolen.”

“ _ Stolen?” _

“Yes,” Harry answered gravely. “ _ Very _ stolen. So unexpected.” 

Draco stood up, looking agitated. “You’re telling me somebody stole  _ doxy traps  _ from  _ Harry Potter _ ?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, but never mind that, I want to-“

“I will  _ not  _ never mind that!” Draco exclaimed. “Your lies get more pathetic by the day. I will not be made a fool of, Potter.” 

“Draco, I-“ 

“No,  _ listen  _ to me!” Draco began to pace the room. “I don’t care if you’ve got a secret girlfriend or a secret job or whatever, but it seems like you’ve just been leaving to get away from me. And if you would just  _ tell  _ me you didn’t want to see me, then-“

“Draco, no!” Harry said, alarmed. He grabbed Draco’s arm, forcing him to stop pacing. “No, that’s not it at all!”

“Well, what is it then?” Draco demanded, looking upset and even a bit hurt. Harry moved his hand down Draco’s arm, slipping his fingers through Draco’s and gripping his hand tight. He couldn’t help but notice that those slim fingers fit in the spaces between his own perfectly. Like maybe Draco’s hands were made for his.

“Let me show you.” 

Harry’s heart was in his throat as he finally dragged Draco up the fire escape stairs that led to the roof. It occurred to him suddenly how very important it was to him that Draco loved the terrace. 

Draco drew in a sharp, startled breath as they reached the top of the stairs. “What is this?” He asked, pulling his hand away to walk toward the table in the center of the roof. 

“It’s what I’ve been working on,” Harry answered. “Me and your mum. It’s yours… if you want it.”

Draco turned to him, expression inscrutable. “You did all this for me?”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping Draco didn’t notice how badly they were shaking. “Well, yeah. I was hoping it would make you feel less cooped up. I- I just… I really want you to be happy here.” He watched as Draco walked the perimeter of the rooftop, running his fingers over some of the most colorful of the plants. Draco looked up to the setting sun, blinking for a moment before letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. The breeze rustled through Draco’s fine blond hair and he smiled. Harry’s breath seized in his chest. 

Abruptly, Draco rushed back to Harry and grabbed his hands. “ _ Thank you,” _ he said fervently. “Thank you. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before.” 

Harry squeezed the hands within his own. “You really like it, then?” 

Draco grinned. “Of course I do, you idiot. It’s perfect.” 

Harry smiled back, feeling like he could fly. His heart was drumming a tattoo against his Adam's apple. He had never felt this way before, like his entire body was thrumming, lost halfway between terror and ecstasy. Draco’s eyes were silver and sincere, and so very  _ close  _ but suddenly it didn’t feel close enough. 

“What are you thinking about?” Draco asked. He hadn’t pulled away from Harry. 

“I’m thinking…” Harry said, throat dry. “I’m thinking that you’re beautiful.” It felt good to tell the truth after so many weeks of dishonesty. Draco’s eyes were wide and startled, and before Harry could fully think through what he was doing, he had leaned toward Draco and pressed their lips firmly together. And  _ oh,  _ was that what a kiss was supposed to feel like? Every nerve ending in his body was alight and he was  _ alive.  _ So very alive, in fact, that it took a moment to realize that Draco had lifted a hand to his chest and was pushing him away.

Harry pulled away, heart hammering against his ribs, took in Draco’s gentle and apologetic expression, and knew that he was about to be rejected. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” he said, quiet but sure. “I’m not… like that. I can’t be  _ that  _ for you.”

Though he had braced himself, the words still hit him like a punch in the gut, and suddenly it became quite hard to breathe. The tension between them was thick and palpable. But he focused on the way Draco was watching him, worried and regretful, and he steadied himself. Draco cared about him, if not in the way that Harry wanted him to. But they were still friends. Draco was funny, sarcastic, clever, and gorgeous, and he wanted to be his friend. After all they had been through, Harry could accept that. Or at least, he would learn to accept it.

Harry smiled at Draco, and was pleased to find that it felt genuine. “It’s okay,” he said, “Forget that happened. Really.” Draco still looked a bit wary, but in time he turned back to the terrace. Harry called Kreacher and asked him to bring them up some tea, and they sat and drank it and talked of inconsequential things until the sun had set. 

That night, Harry did not firecall Ron and Hermione. Instead, he owl ordered the doxy traps that he had said he was going to buy, went to bed, and had his first nightmare since the Malfoys had come to stay. 

* * *

Several weeks later, Narcissa clapped her hands together at the breakfast table one morning, smiled at the tired boys in front of her, and declared that the house renovations were complete.

“The house is lovely,” she said. (Draco snorted. Harry threw a hunk of bread at his face.) “I don’t think anything else we do will make the place more comfortable than it is already.” 

Narcissa smiled and clinked her glass to Draco’s. “You’ve worked so hard, darling,” she said softly. “Thank you.” Draco flushed but smiled a bit, taking a bite to cover up his pleasure at the comment. 

“Harry, why don’t you have some of your friends over to celebrate?” Narcissa asked.

“No.” Harry said sharply. He had taken all of them by surprise, including himself. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “I mean. Not yet, Narcissa, sorry. I just...” He searched for words to explain adequately the dread that had settled hard and fast in his stomach, as though he had swallowed a stone, at the idea. He shook his head. Nothing he could say would make any sense. “Maybe,” he said instead, focusing very hard on his food instead of meeting the two worried gazes he could still feel on him. 

Harry frowned, feeling very much as though a rug had just been pulled out from under his feet. Now that the house was done, and he was bereft of any other excuses to prolong the inevitable, he would have to decide what to do with his time. He was no closer to choosing a career than he had been the day he left Hogwarts for good. Any time he spoke to Hermione, she barraged him with information about this career or the other, and it without fail left him anxious and irritable. Even Ron talked non-stop about work. And now, on top of the disaster that was his non-existent professional life, they would be badgering him for updates on his non-existent love life as well. 

The egg in Harry’s mouth had turned to cardboard. He swallowed with some difficulty, then forced himself to look up and smile at the Malfoys. “I’ll be in my room for a bit, then, since there’s no cleaning to be done.” He pushed away from the table, rushing from the room before anyone else could say a word.

Up in his room, he laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling. At some point, maybe minutes later, maybe hours, there was a light knock at his door, but it was easy enough to ignore. A large tawny owl came in through his open window and left a letter for him on his nightstand, flying off with an annoyed hoot when it realized it would not be getting any treats. Harry recognized Hermione’s sloping script. He tossed it into his dresser drawer, turned back over on his bed, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The next few weeks passed in a dazed fog for Harry. Now that he wasn’t as active during the day, his nightmares had returned in earnest, and it left him feeling worn out and jittery. Every so often Draco sought him out for one thing or the other, but for the most part Harry stayed in his room, alternating between being embarrassed about the state of his life and being too exhausted to actually do anything about it. 

He found himself thinking a lot about the Triwizard Tournament. He liked to pretend he was still underwater in the lake. The way the water had muffled sound and blurred his vision.

He thought about his time in that dreamlike King’s Cross Station. Wondered what it would have been like to stay there.

“Potter?” 

It was Draco at the door. Harry stirred slightly, but couldn’t find the energy to stand from his position, curled up on the floor near his wardrobe. 

“Potter, Kreacher says you’re unwell and unfit for company. It sounds hilarious, let me in at once.” 

Harry sighed and pushed up to a sitting position. He leaned against his furniture and called out, “door’s open.”

Draco pushed in, scanning the room quickly and looked taken aback when he found Harry. He shut the door behind him with a soft click and walked over cautiously. “Did you fall?” Harry shook his head, too weary to be embarrassed. “Are you ill?” Harry shook his head once more, picking absently at the threads of his carpet. 

He could feel Draco’s eyes on him. He knew he probably painted a pathetic image, sitting on a dirty carpet when there was a perfectly good bed mere feet away. He didn’t know how to say,  _ ‘Sorry, was headed to the loo for a shower when I started to think about what the point of it even was, because I’ve got no job and no purpose, and you aren’t interested in me and why would you be, anyway, and then I got so tired I decided to lay down on the carpet,’ _ so he said nothing. Draco sat abruptly beside him, so close their knees brushed. 

“So this is what we’ll be doing once the manic cleaning stage is over?” he asked, voice aloof in a way Harry could tell was forced. “Isolating ourselves and moping about?” 

Harry plucked at the carpet. “It’s what I’m going for. Isolation’s not working out so well, it seems.” 

Draco huffed. “Well, out with it then. What’s on your mind?” 

Harry was ripped back to that day in the courtyard, sobbing and spilling his guts to Draco Malfoy, his schoolyard nemesis. Draco had been understanding then- kind, even. And now they were friends, weren’t they? He knew Draco would never want more from him, (and honestly, who could blame him?) but surely Harry could talk with him frankly, right? 

“Potter?” Draco prompted, frowning a bit now, brow furrowed. He looked worried. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Having an off day.” Draco continued to stare at him expectantly. He groaned. “Okay, an off week or two, I suppose..” Draco nodded and uncrossed his legs, settling into a more comfortable position, like he was ready to listen to Harry for as long as he wanted to talk. The thought made Harry’s eyes grow hot, and before he knew it, he was once again exposing his deepest vulnerabilities. 

He told Draco about his seventh year, and the search for the Horcruxes. He told him about watching Snape’s memories in the pensieve, and realizing that Dumbledore had kept him alive all those years just so he could die at the right moment. How his trust in his mentor had evaporated, how the overwhelming betrayal snuck up on him sometimes and made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. 

“It makes me feel like.... Like I was meant to die in the war. Meant to stay dead, I mean.” Harry sighed heavily. “And sometimes I think it would have been easier. Maybe people would be better off not having to see my face every day and be reminded of the war and the people they lost. Maybe  _ I  _ would be better off if… If I were to just be gone.” 

Draco didn’t look horrified or disgusted, as part of Harry had been expecting. He looked contemplative, and maybe a bit grave, but he wasn’t shouting that they needed to summon a mind-healer or anything, which was a good start. “I… I think I sort of understand what you mean. About Dumbledore. It seems like he had all the answers the entire time, and he was an old coot for not telling you. But people do… horrible things during a war. Things they wouldn’t do under any other circumstances, because they believe it must be done for the  _ greater good. _ ” Draco snorted and was rubbing absently at his left forearm, where Harry knew he must still bear the Dark Mark. “Dumbledore may have made some mistakes, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that he loved you.”

Harry made a soft noise of surprise. “You really think so?” 

“Obviously,” Draco said with a flippant wave of the hand. “It was one of the reasons I used to resent you so much.” 

“Hmmm. I s’pose he probably did. In his own fashion.” 

Draco turned to look at him dead-on for the first time since sitting next to him. His grey eyes were serious, startling in their nearness. “Potter, listen to me. Nobody would be better off if you were gone. Your friends would be devastated, the wizarding world would lose their beacon of hope. My mother and I would be wasting away in Azkaban. Nobody would be better off, okay? Not even you. You’re six months out of a war you’ve been fighting since you were eleven, at least stick around long enough to see what the world is supposed to be like.”

Harry dropped his head into his hands. “I have no direction. No purpose anymore. Just gone eighteen and I’ve already fulfilled my life’s work. ‘Harry Potter,’ they’ll call me, ‘The Boy Who Lived, and then hid away in an old dusty house with an elf and the Malfoys.’” 

“First of all, nobody would call you that. It’s far too long, not nearly snappy enough for a Prophet headline.” 

“You know what I-” 

“Yes, I know what you meant, you bore. I’m very witty, try to keep up. What I was  _ going  _ to say was that you defeated the greatest threat wizardkind has ever known. You get to do whatever you want now, be it Mandrake farming, wandering around public parks cleaning bird droppings, or hiding away in an old,  _ immaculately clean _ house with an elf and the Malfoys.” He looked into Harry’s eyes then, making sure he was truly listening, then leaned back and smiled smugly. “Besides, you don’t remind  _ everyone  _ of the war. I, for example, will forever and always be reminded of the snot-nosed kid in Madame Malkins who didn’t even know what the Hogwarts houses were.”

Harry smiled a bit. “And I will always remember you crying like a giant baby when Buckbeak scratched you.” 

“Oh, you mean when the great brute tried to rip my arm clean off my body?” 

Harry snorted. “Yes. That’s what I mean.” 

After a moment had passed, Draco turned back to look at Harry. “You’re going through something, I get it. But don’t do it alone on this horrible carpet. Come get me, and then we shall sit on the bed like two respectable adults, and we will cry like men.”

Harry grinned, the thought of Draco Malfoy offering this gift warming him. “Okay,” he agreed. 

“I mean it. No leaping from a roof or anything without coming to get me. Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” 

They lapsed into a reasonably comfortable silence. For the first time the entire evening, Harry’s mind was preoccupied with things other than a vague idea of sinking to the bottom of a lake.

* * *

“HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED OUR LETTERS IN WEEKS. WE ARE COMING OVER THIS AFTERNOON TO MAKE SURE YOU AND MALFOY HAVEN’T ACTUALLY KILLED EACH OTHER. UNLOCK YOUR FLOO. RIGHT! NOW!”

The letter went up in flames, and Harry watched the ashes fall to the ground disinterestedly. Really, it had only been a matter of time. He was only surprised the Howler hadn’t come sooner. With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself out of bed, contemplating a shower. He stood with his head against the wall. A shower seemed too much energy. A quick cleansing charm would be fine. 

He threw on a comfortable pair of jeans, a baggy sweatshirt and some of Dudley’s old socks (the only clean ones he had; when had he last done laundry?) and headed downstairs. Narcissa and Draco were in the kitchen, having eggs and tea, in the middle of a discussion that stopped as soon as he entered the room. 

“Oh, Harry!” exclaimed Narcissa. “It’s good to see you up and about. Come have some breakfast with us.” 

Harry supposed it had been a while since he had actually seen Narcissa. Draco tended to barge into his room whenever he pleased, but Narcissa was always very conscious of his personal space. He mustered a small smile for her and dropped into the seat beside her. His stomach turned at the sight of the food, and when Kreacher brought him a plate and a cup of tea, he managed only a bite or two.

“You’re up early,” Draco remarked. “Was it the dull roar of Granger’s voice that woke you?” 

At the sound of Hermione’s name, Harry’s heart skipped. He had been ignoring their letters, filled with a pang of anxiety anytime he passed the drawer where he had stuffed them all away. He placed his cup back on its saucer. “Yeah. She’ll be coming by today. Ron, too, I s’pose.”

Draco was looking at him strangely. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them,” he prompted. 

Harry swallowed hard and gripped his knees and was abruptly fighting back tears. God, did he  _ ever  _ stop crying these days? It had been three months since he had seen his best friends. Almost a month since they had spoken. He should be excited, but instead, he was filled with a cold dread. He didn’t want them to see him like this, didn’t want them to worry about him. He would have to do his absolute best to show them nothing was wrong. 

He stood from the table. “I’ve got to go unlock the Floo. Draco…” he shifted uncertainly. “You could join us. If you want.” 

‘ _ I need you there,’  _ is what Harry thought, but could not say. There was a limit to how much humiliation he could bear. 

“I don’t think your friends will be too keen on that idea,” Draco answered slowly, watching Harry carefully. Harry shrugged a shoulder, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt, and turned to leave. “I’ve never much cared what you Gryffindors thought, however, so I will join you.” 

He looked at Draco and smiled, his first true smile in days. Draco was looking back at him and though he said nothing else, Harry thought that maybe he knew what he had really been trying to say all along. So two hours later, when Ron and Hermione stumbled out of the Floo into the living room, Draco was by his side, supportive in his silence. 

Hermione threw herself at Harry the moment she laid eyes on him. “Oh,  _ Harry _ , we’ve been so worried!” She pulled back a bit and Harry saw that she was close to tears, and suddenly so was he. He stroked her face, flushed and beloved.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “So sorry. I never meant to worry you.” He looked over at Ron, who was watching with suspiciously bright eyes. “Sorry, mate,” he said again. Ron patted him on the back, jovial and forgiving, and Harry’s chest was fit to burst with love for these people. His family.

Draco cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly. “Granger. Weasely. Care for some tea?” 

Several minutes later, the four were seated in the living room, each nursing a steaming mug of tea. 

“So, what’ve you been up to, mate?” Ron asked 

Harry shrugged. ‘ _ Not much, have nightmares, cry, pine over a boy who doesn’t want me, repeat.’  _ Hermione would have him at St. Mungo’s before he could finish the sentence. 

“Harry?” Hermione prompted. “Are you alright?” 

Harry directed his brightest smile at her. “‘Course, Hermione. Sorry I zoned out for a minute there. Me, Draco, and Narcissa just finished up renovations on the house, so I’ve just been resting a bit.” 

“Draco, huh? And does he call you Harry now?” Ron grinned.

“Ron,” Hermione scolded.

“Don’t worry,” Draco joined in, blowing on his tea gently to cool it. “I may call him Harry, but you’ll always be Weaselby to me.” Ron flushed and Harry grinned. “Granger, is your tea okay? You haven’t touched it.”

Harry hadn’t noticed but he saw now that Draco was right. Hermione had been holding it in her lap, but hadn’t taken a sip. She smiled and set the tea on the table in front of her. “Actually, I’ve been off tea lately.” 

Draco was watching Hermione with what Harry knew was a calculating gaze. He glanced back and forth between them, feeling like he was missing something. Hermione reached over the table and grabbed Harry’s hand in her own. “Harry, part of the reason we wanted so badly to see you was to tell you something.”

The pit of dread in his stomach returned with a vengeance. He set his tea aside. “Yeah?” He asked.

She glanced back at Ron, eyes sparkling, and then over to Harry. “Ron and I are getting married. It’s going to be something small at the Burrow, just close family and friends.” Harry was smiling, but the way she was talking didn’t sound like this was the big news they had come to share. She continued, “It’s got to be soon though, because… because I’m pregnant, Harry. We’re going to have a baby.”

Harry felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach, all of the air leaving his body in a rush. A baby. He stood from the couch, walking around the table to pull his two favorite people in the world into an embrace. They deserved this. They deserved all of the happiness in the world. They were beaming at him, at each other, at Draco, even, as he congratulated them. Ron and Hermione were glowing, radiating joy. 

And Harry hated them, just a little bit, for being so devastatingly happy while he was so miserable. For being so successful in their lives, whilst Harry could hardly get out of bed in the mornings. Even for being in love, and having their affections returned, when Harry’s love was so hopelessly one-sided. It paled in comparison to the hatred he felt for himself for having these thoughts, no matter how fleeting.

He smiled and nodded and said all the right things for the rest of their visit. (Of  _ course  _ he would be Ron’s Best Man. He absolutely could not  _ wait  _ to be Uncle Harry. He couldn’t be more pleased for them.) He got through their visit, and promised he wouldn’t lock the Floo, and promised he would answer their letters. He kissed Hermione goodbye, and pulled Ron in for a brief hug, and smiled and waved as they stepped into the Floo. 

The moment they were gone, the smile fell from his face abruptly. He turned and curled into Draco’s side on the couch, and cried soundlessly on his shoulder. Draco said nothing, just wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back until he fell asleep. 

* * *

Harry woke up screaming and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Fred’s lifeless face burned into his mind. And once it started, it wouldn’t stop. His mother and father, Tonks and Lupin, Sirius, Mad Eye Moody, Cedric Diggory, Colin Creevey, Severus Snape. People he had as good as killed by his own hand. He screamed and sobbed until his throat was raw, and when he still felt no better, he picked up the decorative vase on his bedside table and smashed it against the wall. Everything  _ hurt  _ and he couldn’t breathe, didn’t  _ want _ to breathe. He threw himself to the ground and absolutely  _ howled  _ his rage and despair and self-loathing.

He hardly registered when Draco crashed into the room, wand raised. In between the space of one sob and the next, Draco had gathered Harry into his arms, holding him tight on the filthy old carpet.

“It’s  _ my _ fault,” Harry wailed into Draco’s chest, gripping his grey nightshirt so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t stand it, I can’t.” Harry opened his eyes and found Draco staring at him, looking frightened and sad, and Harry dropped his head on Draco’s shoulder. He cried and he cried and he wished for death a hundred times and Draco held him tightly, so tightly that Harry felt he might shatter into a thousand pieces if he let go.

When he had finally screamed himself hoarse and wept until he was out of tears, Draco dragged him off of the floor and half-carried him towards the bed. Harry wanted to protest, but he felt weak and suddenly exhausted, like he could sleep for a month, and every fiber of his being hurt. Draco helped him slide under the covers and then crawled into the bed himself, curling around Harry and holding him tight until breathing wasn’t so excruciatingly painful, and he drifted off into a fitful and restless sleep. 

* * *

“Hey, Scarhead.” 

When Harry opened his eyes he felt as though he had only drifted off for a few minutes, but there was light streaming in through the window. His eyes felt swollen, he had a headache, and the instant embarrassment as he recalled the night before hit him like a tidal wave. He pulled himself slowly to a sitting position and looked about the room. The vase had been repaired, the room tidied up as he slept. He forced himself to look up at Malfoy, who was leaning casually against his door frame.

Harry cleared his throat. “Morning,” he greeted sheepishly.

“Afternoon, more like,” Draco answered. “It’s almost two already.” Harry blinked owlishly. He had slept for that long? “You’ve got a visitor.” Hermione squeezed into the room past Malfoy then, carrying a plate of sandwiches and a large throw blanket.

“Hermione, what-” 

Hermione didn’t even let him finish his sentence before placing the plate down on the end of the bed, crawling up next to Harry, and covering them both with the heavy blanket. Instinctively his arm wrapped around her as she curled up into his side. Harry heard a faint click as Draco shut the door slowly behind himself. 

“Alright, Harry,” she said, “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on with you, okay? It’s time you let me help you, just like you’ve always helped me.” 

And it was just such a Hermione thing to do. To come running when he hadn’t even told her he needed her, bringing sandwiches and blankets and a sympathetic ear. To understand him better than probably anyone else in the world. He pulled her in tighter, buried his nose in her hair, and kissed the top of her head. 

* * *

They were still wrapped around each other an hour later, Hermione’s head on Harry’s chest, her hair tickling his nose, her arms locked tight around his waist. They had talked- well, really, Harry had talked- about his feelings of inadequacy. About how he had no idea what to do with the rest of his life. How guilty he felt about the deaths of their loved ones. How crushed he was when Draco had rejected him. How terrified he was that he was going to end up alone. And through it all, Hermione had held him and wiped his tears and promised that she would love him no matter what, even if he decided never to leave this old crumbling house ever again. Hermione told him that she would love him and Ron would love him and their baby would love him, and he would never be alone. 

After a few minutes of contented silence, when Harry’s tears had run dry and the sandwiches had finally been eaten, Hermione grinned at him. “You know what I think this calls for?”

Harry watched warily as she jumped off the bed and rushed over to the small radio in the corner. “‘Mione…”

She fiddled with the dials until she found a song she was satisfied with. She smiled and turned up the volume, returning to the bed to drag Harry up. “Come, now, Harry. For old times’ sake.” 

Harry groaned but complied, unable to deny Hermione anything she wanted when she was spending so much time trying to make him feel better. As soon as they were both standing, Hermione grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’ll feel better after, I swear. I did, when you did this for me.” 

Harry pulled her closer, wrapping his arms more firmly around her waist, swaying with her to the music.

_ We won’t have to go far to find what we want… _

It didn’t take long for Harry to be transported to another time, another place. A tent in the middle of nowhere, a crackling radio and dim firelight in the background. Hermione’s hands warm and solid on his neck. Harry pulled back and found that Hermione was crying, but this time she was smiling. Harry grinned and spun her abruptly. “Harry!” she shrieked, losing her footing. He laughed and steadied her.

_ I’ll be the driver, you’ll be the getaway car… _

The door opened and Draco hesitantly peeked his head in. When he saw them there, holding each other and crying, but smiling, he stepped further into the room. “What on  _ Earth  _ is going on?” he asked, perplexed. Harry, feeling reckless with his joy as he hadn’t in so long, reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, pulling him into an elaborate twirl. 

_ I know it’s hard in a place like this. _

To Draco’s merit, he didn’t miss a step. He came out of the spin and grabbed Hermione by the waist, starting a dramatic waltz. Soon enough, all three were laughing and jumping around, barely in time with the music and not caring. Draco was laughing and Harry was smiling, and Hermione had launched herself at Harry once again, holding him tightly. Holding him together.

After a few songs, the three dropped onto the bed, Hermione nuzzled into Harry’s chest. Harry held onto Draco’s hand, and Draco gripped his fingers just as tightly. Hermione leaned up and kissed Harry on the cheek. “I told you it would help, didn’t I?” 

“You were right, Hermione. You always are.” Harry smiled but he was looking at Draco. Draco looked incredible, flushed from exertion, hair pushed carelessly out of his face. He was watching Harry, grey eyes bright and happy.

_ I love you,  _ Harry thought for the millionth time but did not say. It wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

_ ‘I love you,’  _ Harry mouthed soundlessly. Draco stilled beside him, eyes going wide. After a long, heart-stopping moment, Draco breathed out, and his thumb stroked the back of Harry’s hand. 

A week later, and Harry had been making a consistent effort to better himself. He got out of bed every day. He ate three meals a day. He talked to Narcissa and Draco and Kreacher. He floo called Ron and Hermione every single day. And when the panic and despair hit him and would not go, Harry would find Draco, and they would go to the roof and look at the flowers.

Harry suspected he had a long road ahead of him, but knew he would not travel it alone.

* * *

A month prior to May 2nd, the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the letters from the Ministry had begun to arrive. They invited Harry to a memorial that would be held at the school, and asked him if he would give a speech. After reading the first two letters, he started throwing them away unopened. Still they came, every two or three days.

On April 30th, Draco entered his room with no preamble, as he did so often. Harry had been writing a letter to Ron and Hermione, who he knew were not attending the memorial. The Weasleys had decided to have their own memorial at the Burrow, and they had invited Harry as well. He set the letter aside as Draco entered. “Hey,” he greeted, “what’s going on?”

Draco sighed dramatically and threw himself onto Harry’s bed. “This house is going to be buried under letters from the Ministry by the end of the week.”

“We got another one?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “We did. It came with a package of Honeydukes sweets this time. I suspect they’re trying to bribe you into coming now. Also I may have eaten some of them already. Won’t you just answer them already so they stop this madness? ...Actually, maybe don’t, the sweets were quite good.”

Harry groaned and dropped his head onto his desk. “I just don’t know what to do. They want me to go make some grand speech to a room full of Ministry officials, and the Weasleys want me to go to their house so we can all talk about how terribly we miss Fred.”

“What do you want to do?” Draco asked.

Such a simple question, and yet nobody else had asked it of him. What  _ did  _ he want? “I want…” he started, trying out the words as if for the first time. “I want to sit up on the roof with you and Narcissa.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.”

Draco watched him, considering, then he smiled. “I think we can arrange that.”

* * *

So that was what they did, on the morning of May 2nd. He, Narcissa, and Draco, a solemn trio, trudged up to the rooftop terrace as the sun rose. Kreacher brought them a plate of pastries, and nobody touched them. 

Harry had brought up the heavy blanket that Hermione had left with him several weeks ago. As Narcissa tended to the plants and Draco curled up onto one of the lounge seats, Harry walked over to the ledge of the roof. He conjured a cushion, sat on the ledge, and then swung his legs over the side of the building.

“Are you trying to die in the most ridiculous and anticlimactic way imaginable?” came Draco’s voice not two minutes later. Harry rolled his eyes and glanced over at Draco, walking toward him briskly. “The Chosen One, defeated Voldemort and then fell off a building exactly one year later.”

Harry grinned. Wordlessly, he conjured another cushion beside him on the building’s ledge, then returned to looking out at the city skyline. A moment and a loud scoff later, Draco sat on the cushion, bringing his legs around with much more caution than Harry had. “If I die, I’ll kill you, Potter.” He snatched at the blanket wrapped around Harry, and took half for himself. Harry took the opportunity to scoot a bit closer, until their thighs were pressed together. 

They passed some time in silence, until Narcissa walked over and gently laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m very proud of you boys,” she said quietly. Harry looked over his shoulder curiously, and she was smiling at them and crying silently. “In a million years, I never would have guessed that this is where we would be one year after the war. But you two have adapted so well, and you’ve turned this place into a true home for all of us.” She leaned in, placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek and then Draco’s. “I love you both.”

Harry’s heart stuttered as Draco murmured the sentiment in return. Harry had never known the love of a mother figure before. He thought of Petunia’s version of love: allowing him to live in her home, but keeping him locked in a cupboard. Forcing him to cook and clean and never repay him with even a scrap of affection. And then he looked at Narcissa, though his eyes were blurry with unshed tears. She was looking at him so gently, adoringly. Giving him love though she had no biological requirement to do so.

He covered Narcissa’s hand with his own. “Love you,” he answered quietly, heart pounding. “I love you both, too.”

Narcissa kissed him again on his forehead, her own tears dripping onto his cheeks, and then retreated back to her spot on the lounge chair. 

Harry noticed Draco was still staring at him, cheeks stained pink, wind rustling through his hair.

“Do you…” Draco started, then hesitated. He sighed. “You really love me, then?” 

“Yes,” Harry answered at once, as easily as breathing. “I do love you. You know I do.” 

Draco shook his head, staring out at the view. “You’re a nutter,” he mumbled. He reached out so quickly that Harry didn’t understand what he was doing until cool, slim fingers wrapped firmly around his own. Draco’s gaze remained firmly set on the horizon. 

On the one year anniversary of the most horrific day of his life, Harry Potter sat on a rooftop holding hands with Draco Malfoy, and he felt like he could fly.

* * *

“Oi, Potty!” 

Harry rolled his eyes, looking up from  _ The Quibbler.  _ Draco was leaning against the doorframe looking unbearably smug. “Yes, Malfoy?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Come.” 

Harry was going to complain about being summoned like a crup, but Draco was already walking away from him. He scrambled out of his chair, hurrying to catch up and hoping he didn’t seem as pathetic as he felt. Harry followed him up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway, coming to a stop in front of the room with Sirius’ family tree. 

Draco paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Thought I would repay you for the roof. I hope you like it.” He pushed open the door and led Harry into the room 

Harry wasn’t sure what to expect, but at first glance the room looked very much the same, a tall tree with massive branches splitting into every direction. He looked automatically for Sirius’ name, and felt a jolt of surprise when, instead of Sirius’ name, he found his own. This tree was similar in appearance to the old one, but the names on the wall were vastly different. Draco had obviously traced his family line for him, and Harry traced his fingers reverently over the names of generations of Potters. Grandparents, great-grandparents, great uncles and great great aunts and all other manner of familial ties that he had never known. He had even managed to trace his mum’s family line back two generations, the names of his muggle relatives displayed as proudly on the wall as his wizarding family. 

Sirius’ name was restored, and was displayed next to his father and Remus Lupin. Tonks was on the wall, and Teddy. Harry moved along the wall, scanning for familiar names, and stopped when he saw Molly Weasley written in the same leaning script. His chosen family was on the wall, all of them. The entire Weasley family, with Hermione’s name written next to Ron.

He stood back from the wall, trying to take in the entire creation at once. It was beautiful. An entire wall full of people that he could call his family, whether blood-related or not. He had grown up an unloved orphan, and now he had a sprawling family tree as large and plentiful as the Black family tree had been. He could never in all of his wildest dreams imagined such a thing.

“Do you like it?” Draco asked, pulling Harry back to the present. Harry turned to look at him, and saw he was watching him with barely concealed anxiety. 

Harry beamed at him, feeling his throat grow tight with emotion. “Draco, this is  _ incredible. _ How did you do this?” 

Draco relaxed a bit, smiling and walking closer to the wall. “Granger helped me quite a bit. She sent me over the Pureblood Directory so I could find the Potters, Weasleys, and Blacks. She also used some muggle metal box to look up your mother’s family. It had  _ loads  _ of information about the Evans family, quite creepy really.”

“You know,” Harry grinned, “one might think it was creepier that wizards have a list to track all of the purebloods than muggles using  _ computers  _ to look up ancestry.”

“Well, I don’t understand the compator thing but tracking pureblood wizards is an ancient practice, goes back ages.” Draco stopped in his perusal of the wall and pointed to a small segment of the tree. “I hope it’s okay that I left my mother and I on the tree.”

Harry hadn’t noticed but he watched as Draco’s long, pale fingers traced over his and Narcissa’s names, right next to Sirius’. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were conspicuously absent. Harry stood beside Draco and impulsively grabbed his hand. “It’s perfect.” It brought him great joy, just to see their names so close together on that wall. Like Draco was his family. “ _ Absolutely  _ perfect.”

They stood and stared at the wall in silence, hand-in-hand, for a long time before Draco turned to Harry and asked, “What are you thinking about right now?” 

Harry turned and looked at Draco, pale and beautiful, and thought about the last time he had asked Harry that question. Harry smiled softly, knowing his answer would be the same. “I’m thinking about how amazing you are, and how I badly want to kiss you again.” Draco’s smile faltered. “No, I know. It’s okay.” Harry bit the inside of his cheek, looked down, stared at his hands in Draco’s. Kept his face carefully blank. “Pathetic, aren’t I? Saying all that when I know you’re not interested.” 

Draco stepped back, out of reach. “It’s not that I’m not… look, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, okay? But I just- I can’t.”

Though it felt like another stab in his gut, Harry forced himself to form something resembling a smile, and carried on staring at his family tree.

Harry took to sitting in the room and just staring at the wall when he had nothing to do (which, he had to admit, was basically always). Sometimes he would touch his fingers to the names to make him feel closer to his family, but usually he just sat on the floor a few feet away and stared at the sprawling tree. Draco walked in while he was doing this a few times. One time he had joined Harry, sitting beside him in silence until it was time for lunch. Another time Harry had fallen asleep on the floor, and woke up covered in a blanket, his glasses folded neatly beside him. The next time he went into the room he found a plush loveseat, piled high with pillows and blankets.

* * *

Harry groaned, clenching the letter tightly in his hands. Hermione kept saying she was going to… but he didn’t really think she  _ would… _

“What’s that?” Draco asked. He was lounging on his stomach on Harry’s bed, leafing through the latest employment pamphlets Hermione had sent over. The sight of him made Harry’s mouth go dry. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Seems ‘Mione has set me up on a date for tonight.”

It felt like a long time before Draco responded. “Is that so?” he drawled, sitting up slowly. “Who’s the lucky winner of a date with the Chosen One?” 

Harry scowled. “You know I hate that,” he snapped. Draco remained perched on his bed, watching him with badly faked disinterest. He sighed. “Some bloke she works with. Elliot.”

Draco’s nose scrunched with distaste. “Elliot. Sounds boring.” 

Harry snorted, “You know nothing about him!”

Draco just shrugged. “Maybe not, but I know you’re going to be bored out of your skull.” 

“Well,” Harry started, annoyance propelling him to his feet, “seeing as how I’ve got no shot with the one bloke who won’t  _ bore me _ , I’ve got to start looking somewhere don’t I?” 

Draco threw the papers aside and sighed dramatically. “All this pining over me, Potter, honestly. When did you even decide you’re gay, anyway?”

At a complete loss for words, Harry gaped at Draco. It had been so long since the boy had been so pointlessly cruel to him. He almost forgot how soundly his words could strike. “What a stupid question,” he growled. “When did you decide you’re straight?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re….” Harry faltered. “Wait. What?”

“I’m. Not. Straight.” Draco enunciated, arms folded over his chest, cheeks tinged pink. “I like both.”

“Oh.” Harry stared, anger gone in a heartbeat. Because if Draco liked men... “ _ Oh.” _

_ “ _ What?” Draco asked, looking vulnerable and wary.

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and ended up with a little of both. “Nothing, it’s just that all this time I thought you were telling me you weren’t interested in men. But really, you’re just not interested in  _ me _ .” 

It was silent. Draco did not contradict him. Harry felt like the world's biggest fool. 

Harry rushed from his own bedroom, and Draco did not stop him. 

The next morning over breakfast, Narcissa asked Harry how his date was. Harry looked at Draco, who looked a bit unwell with dark circles beneath his eyes. 

“I was bored out of my skull,” he answered honestly.

* * *

Things became a bit strained in the months after that. Draco tried to go on acting as though everything were the same, but Harry had found himself unable to do so.

Pathetic as it may be, when Harry lay in bed at night, longing for the man in the room beside his own, he was able to console himself only by telling himself that Draco couldn’t help what gender he found himself attracted to. Just as Harry himself had no choice in liking men, Draco couldn’t help liking women. But he didn’t even have that small comfort to fall back on, and the hurt of it fell upon him like waves.

Harry loved Draco. Draco smirked and laughed and teased and Harry loved him. And sometimes Draco sneered and moped and whined and Harry loved him then, too. Harry loved Draco so much he felt it as a physical force within himself, a restless, relentless pressure in his chest and his throat and his stomach. He loved Draco down through his toes and out to his fingertips, where his love felt like a tingling, ever present need to reach out and touch alabaster skin, or run through silky blonde hair.

Harry loved Draco, and did not know how not to.

Draco did not love Harry, and Harry finally realized that there was nowhere to place the blame for that besides firmly upon himself.

* * *

It had been one year, three hundred and sixty four days since Draco had come to live with him. They sat beneath the stars on what would be their last night living together in complete silence for some time before Harry gathered the courage to speak.

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Harry attempted to sound casual, but even to his own ears he fell short. “If you need some time to sort things out. You can stay.”

Draco sighed, as if knowing Harry was going to say this and wishing he wouldn’t, and set his drink beside him. “I can’t stay, Harry. You know I can’t.” 

Harry felt his cheeks burning in the cool night air. Felt his eyes filling with moisture, not from sorrow, but from sheer mortification. How many times did Draco have to refuse him before his stupid heart would learn its lesson? Even as he thought this, he was powerless to stop himself as he said, “Well, I didn’t mean it like… like  _ that.  _ I know you’re not- er, not interested. I just meant, if you wanted to move out slowly, that would be okay.” 

“No,” Draco said firmly, though not unkindly. “I’ll be out tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, though his throat was tight. He stared determinedly up at the sky and pretended to scratch the corner of his eye so he could wipe away the stray tear that had escaped. “You’ll be going back to the manor, then?” 

Draco hesitated, and from the corner of his eye Harry could see Draco watching him warily. “Actually, Harry, no. I’ve been meaning to tell you… Astoria Greengrass and I have decided to get married. I’ll be staying with her family until we get our own home after the wedding.” 

Harry bolted upright in his chair, turning to stare open-mouthed at Draco. “You’re not serious.” 

“I am,” Draco said, frowning. 

“Do you love her?” Harry asked, heart racing. He both needed to know the answer and wanted to cover his ears and shout at the top of his lungs. He stared in torturous silence as Draco plucked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Draco? Do you  _ love  _ her?” 

Draco looked at him once more, glaring now. “ _ No,  _ okay, no, I don’t love her. But she’s a nice girl from a good family. We can have a comfortable life together.” 

“Is that your greatest ambition in life, then?” Harry demanded, voice rising. “Just to be  _ comfortable _ ? Not very Slytherin of you, Malfoy, I must say.”

“The Malfoy name is  _ ruined,  _ Harry, We have nothing. Perhaps being comfortable is the best I can hope for. What other option do I have?”

Harry jumped to his feet. “You have  _ me,  _ you idiot! If you would stop caring what other people thought for five bloody minutes, you would see that there’s another option right in front of your face!”

Draco’s face drained of color, but he stood, never one to back down from a challenge. “I won’t drag you down with me, Harry. If people ever found out that we were together-”

Harry rushed forward and grabbed Draco’s hands. “I don’t  _ care,  _ Draco. I don’t care what people think, because I love you. We could be more than  _ comfortable,  _ we could be  _ happy,  _ don’t you see?”

Draco reached out and used his sleeve to dry Harry’s face. When had he started crying? “I’m so sorry, Harry,” he said softly, grey eyes dry and full of horrible pity. “I never meant to cause you any more pain. I never wanted this.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, and he stepped back. He knew Draco wasn’t interested in him, and never had been. He knew it. But hearing it so succinctly, so directly, was more wretched than he could have ever imagined. 

_ I never wanted this.  _

“Well, then,” he cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes. “That’s that. All good.” He had no idea what he was saying. He could see Draco walking toward him, opening his mouth to speak, but he absolutely could not allow it. Could not bear to hear it again.  _ Never wanted this. Never wanted you.  _ “Good luck with Astoria. I’m sure the wedding will be lovely. Come see your mother anytime, okay?” 

He fled.

When he woke up the next morning, Draco was gone. The only thing left in his bare room was a small piece of paper, folded up and left on top of his pillow.

_ H, _

_ I really am sorry. _

- _ D.  _

* * *

“Harry?” 

Narcissa entered his room cautiously some two weeks later, closing the door behind her. “Draco was just here. He’s gone now, but he asked after you. I told him you weren’t well.”

Harry’s body froze at the sound of his name and he shut his eyes tightly. A moment later, Harry felt the bed dip behind him. When he looked over, he saw Narcissa had perched herself at the very edge of his bed and was staring at him with worried grey eyes. She reached out and stroked through his (undoubtedly greasy) hair. “Oh, Harry. Sweet child. I’m so sorry.”

Harry didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly Narcissa’s arms were wrapped around him, and he was sobbing, face pressed to her shoulder like a small child with his mother. 

* * *

The invitation arrived by owl a week after that, when Harry had just started venturing out into the world once more. The parchment was beautiful yet sturdy, announcing the wedding ceremony of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, and ‘kindly requesting the pleasure of his attendance.’ 

Deciding to be kind to himself for once, Harry folded the invite in half, and tossed it in the bin. 

* * *

Time went on, as it always had, until the morning of the ceremony arrived.

Harry and Narcissa sat at the kitchen table together in the morning, each morose and irritable after a sleepless night. Narcissa was missing the wedding ceremony of her only child. The one Harry still loved, despite his best efforts, was marrying another. It was bound to be a bleak and dreary day. 

And then the doorbell rang. Harry and Narcissa both looked up, startled. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” Harry asked, already moving to get the door. 

Narcissa frowned. “No.. Draco said he would bring Astoria by, but that was meant to be later, after the ceremony.” 

Harry pulled the door open, and there Draco was in his formal dress robes, looking more polished and put together than Harry had ever seen him. It knocked the wind out of him, and he jumped back as if he had been burned. “Oh. Er- hello. Your mum is in the kitchen.”

Draco moved inside calmly. “I’m actually here to see you.” 

“You are?” 

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then. Here I am. What’s going on?”

“I have a problem.”

“A problem?” Harry echoed, heart racing. 

There was no ring on Draco’s finger. 

“Yes, a problem, do keep up.” Draco leaned against the doorway to the coat closet and stared fixedly at Harry, his grey eyes like liquid silver. “So, there I am, living in a perfectly nice house, with a perfectly nice family. About to marry a very pretty girl. And all I could think about was coming back here, to this old house. To you.”

Harry’s mouth was dry, heart in his throat. “Why?”

“Because, as it turns out, being comfortable isn’t enough for me. I want to be happy, and the only time in my whole miserable life I’ve ever really been happy was with you.”

It was like a dream. Harry hardly dared to breathe as Draco sauntered slowly toward him. 

“Well,” Draco arched an eyebrow, “aren’t you going to say anything then?”

“I… don’t know what to say,” Harry answered honestly. “I’m not sure what it is you want from me.”

Draco was very close by then. He reached up and dragged his fingertips down the sides of Harry’s face, letting them rest on Harry’s stubbled jaw. “As it turns out, I want many things from you. But why don’t we start with…” Draco surged up on his toes, closing the remaining distance between them until their lips were pressed together. 

Harry wasted no time, wrapping his arms around Draco’s slim waist and drawing him even closer. It briefly crossed his mind that perhaps he should be more upset with Draco, but Draco’s lips were soft and precious against his own, and he kissed as though in a dream. Harry ran his fingers through fine blonde strands of hair before coming to rest on the back of Draco’s neck. He drew back for a moment, overwhelmed. He pressed his forehead against Draco’s. 

Harry grinned, panting slightly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my charms for long.”

Draco grabbed his face in both hands, fixing his gaze on Harry’s. “Potter. I cannot stress this enough. I find you repulsive,” he said seriously, and then kissed him soundly. 

* * *

_ 3 years later… _

The day couldn’t have been more perfect, Harry thought. The sun was shining but there was a cool breeze in the air that he was thankful for in his stuffy suit. He had snuck away for a moment from his friends and family, from Molly and Narcissa, who were both doting over him like a child. 

He was watching the white peacocks in the front of the estate, who were entirely unimpressed by the commotion. “Why do you guys stay here?” he wondered aloud. “It’s not like you’re leashed or anything. You could go anywhere.”

“They stay out of spite, I’ve always suspected.”

Harry grinned and turned to see Draco, looking absolutely incredible in his best suit. “You look amazing, love,” Harry said as he approached, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Isn’t it bad luck for us to see each other before the ceremony, though?” 

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Muggle rubbish. You can tell me how good I look all day if you please.” 

Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and Draco dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you how good you look for the rest of our lives.” He felt Draco smile and press a kiss to the side of his neck.

“As you should. Now, I think it’s just about time.” He pulled away, fixing his hair and adjusting his suit. “Are you ready?” He asked, hand outstretched.

Harry smiled at him, blissful, and took his hand.

“Absolutely.”


End file.
